


Dog-Eared Innocence

by Axella779



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Canon Asexual Character, Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Non-graphic description of a panic attack, POV Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, allusions to ep 160, can be read as an, post ep 159
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24266434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axella779/pseuds/Axella779
Summary: Weeks spent in a cabin before the end of the world.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 17
Kudos: 148





	Dog-Eared Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> I might be working through some quarantine feelings.
> 
> Gratuitous inspiration and lines lifted from “The Graveyard Near the House” by Airborne Toxic Event.

The day they arrive at the safehouse is the first time he kisses Martin. Its a thank you more than it is a catharsis. A thank you for choosing him over The Lonely. For doing what he did all in the name of keeping Jon safe.

The moment Basira’s taillights are lost from view on the winding path amongst the trees, Martin turns to Jon like he wants to say something. Jon thinks he already knows and can’t bear to hear it spoken aloud, so he kisses Martin instead and feels the words die on his own lips as Martin returns the kiss. He’s still unsure what this means for them, but he’s certain that this is the starting point he wants to go from. Its chaste as first kisses go, but lasts long enough to convey that it wasn’t a mistake. When they break apart, Martin lifts his hand to Jon’s cheek in a gentle show of affection before they pick up their respective suitcases and carry them inside. They’ll talk about it, but not right now.

***

They venture out for supplies and to acquaint themselves with the surrounding area. Its a short hike along the side of the road, there are no footpaths that lead through the trees and over the stone bridge that crosses a small river. The closest shop is a Co-Op on the outskirts of Aviemore. They fill their trolley with canned goods and ready meals, a couple ingredients for a fry-up, a bottle of buckfast, enough so they won’t have to make another trip anytime soon.

The cabin consists of a living room with a combined kitchen and two bedrooms with a three door jack-and-jill bathroom connecting them. On the first night, after a moment of hesitation they both depart for separate bedrooms. _It wouldn’t do to assume after only the first kiss_ , thinks Jon. People don’t usually do that. But then again people don’t usually move in together before their first kiss either. He has to remind himself that their circumstances are entirely different and can’t in any way be compared to a normal couple. _Normal couples go out for drinks, not fight Eldritch personifications of fear._

Martin had said he loved him, and Jon knows in his heart that he’s felt the same since even before he could put a name to the shape of it. But giving only himself, just a shell of a person, felt like poor compensation for Martin’s affection. He wondered what attracted Martin to him in the first place. He was never particularly handsome, even before the scars and general lack of care for his body had taken its toll. And previously, between the latent distain for Martin’s work ethic and later stalking, Jon was surprised not to have been hit with a restraining order rather than a love confession.

He was never very good with people and he knew it. Sure, he used to feign apathy as a shield, but even after he finally gave up that charade he couldn’t remember actually cultivating any friendships in his adulthood. He and Sasha had gotten on, he thinks, as work colleagues at least. Maybe Tim had liked him at one point, before the paranoia and mental break. Daisy and he had certainly learned to get along more recently. Georgie? But he had known her long before his identity as Head Archivist and he figured she stuck around as long as she did due to their shared history. Friendship predicated on sunk cost fallacy. He hoped that wasn’t the case with Martin, too much time and effort put in to just cut his losses. To recognize what a lost cause Jon really was.

Peter’s taunts had struck some cord within him. How well did they even know each other before this began? He dug for any piece of trivia he knew about Martin ( _he likes spiders?_ ), and things he wondered if Martin knew about him. Jon’s favorite color is umber and he can touch play exactly one song on piano, “Home Again” from _Tapestry_. He makes a mental note to slip these facts into a conversation at some point and to learn what Martin’s favorite film is. To ask who he was before he was an archival assistant. They never just sit and talk about it. Just stumbling around like strangers in the dark. Feeling out the shape of things. But dark isn't always bad, it allows for heighten senses. Learning each other by feel.

***

They fall into a sort of routine and learn through experience. For breakfast Martin prefers the thin Richmond sausages and won’t touch a tomato with a meter stick. Jon likes his eggs scrambled on wheat toast. They walk in the mornings, sometimes just as an excuse to get dressed, following the course of the River Luineag until it empties into Loch Morlich and return to the cabin with soaked trouser hems from where they’d misstepped. They sit on the couch in the afternoons and Jon attempts to read something from the bookshelves but finds he can’t block out his thoughts long enough to actually become immersed in any of the stories. Martin sometimes sits at the dining table and scribbles in a lined moleskin notebook. Martin only brushes his teeth once a day in the evenings, saying that he’s never had a cavity and goes for regular cleanings twice a year. Jon finds that a little disgusting but kisses him anyways.

At first, the kisses and touches are infrequent. Given only as comfort over the first week while they attempt to settle into their new living situation. Martin had found Jon in the kitchen with a white knuckle grip on the counter and looking on the verge of tears. He approached carefully and gently pried up Jon’s fingers before wrapping his arms around him. He breathed in timed inhales and exhales to encourage Jon to match his rhythm. After he felt Jon’s heart rate had returned to normal, he kissed his temple keeping his lips there for a couple moments. As Martin moved to pull away, Jon pulled him back in for a kiss on the lips that felt more like what the first one should have been. Two days later, Jon surprises Martin again by turning his head for a kiss while Martin is reading from his notebook, melancholy expression fading away against Jon’s lips.

It soon becomes routine. Over toast in the mornings, after helping the other over a particularly tricky section of their hiking route. Saying good night before departing to separate bedrooms.

They get to know each other through domestic mundanity. The push and pull of finding where their pieces fit together. Jon gratefully accepts tea from Martin like muscle memory and it never stops being thrilling for Martin to see a bedraggled Jon in his pajamas in the mornings. He remembers Martin’s time sleeping in the archives and his propensity for not wearing trousers, but no longer finds the immodesty alarming.

There’s still no access to statements for Jon, with Basira unable to enter the Institute. He feels the lethargy in his body but its no worse than it ever was, and he had become used to the perpetual weariness long before this. Martin still frets and even offers to give a statement, something small just to tide Jon over. After a fair amount of convincing Jon agrees, but only if Martin promises to keep it light. He takes a moment to think then treats Jon to a tale about a traumatic moment in primary school when he wet his pants and was called out in front of the class. The story makes Jon laugh, the way Martin animatedly tells it as though it were his villain origin story. He’s not entirely sure if the statement worked in the same way statements of fear do, but it lifted his spirits to hear an anecdote from Martin’s life. In return, Jon tells Martin about his phase in uni where he had trained as an opera singer, but declines to demonstrate. They end up sitting on the floor with the bottle of buckfast between them sharing wine and stories from before their time at the Institute, before their time together. The buckfast’s combination of alcohol and caffeine making the stories more and more energetic as the night drags on. Martin claps excitedly with exaggerated shouts of “Bravo!” when Jon finally sings a few bars of “Music of the Night” in his perfect baritone. Jon plays along, bowing deeply to the imaginary audience. He’s almost able to hide his embarrassment and blames the colour rising in his cheeks on the wine. They don’t sleep that night and end up skipping their daily walk the next morning.

They depart for separate bedrooms when they finally call it quits around noon the next day. Jon hears Martin moving around in the connecting bathroom and goes to open the door when he no longer hears the shuffling within. He’s surprised when he opens it to see Martin standing there with his hand raised as if about to knock.

“Can I—?” Martin begins.

“Yes! Yes of course!” Jon half shouts, fairly flustered but extremely happy, knowing exactly what Martin was about to ask.

“Just give me a moment!” Jon moves into the bathroom simultaneously pushing Martin into his room and closing the door behind him. He washes his face quickly and makes some attempt at flattening his hair into less of a mess, as if Martin hadn’t already seen it just now. He counts to three in his head before opening the door to see Martin is sitting on the end of the bed.

“I wasn’t sure what side you preferred,” _Bless him_. Jon feels himself warm with adoration. He steps forward to kiss Martin squarely on the lips.

“The left side, please.” Martin nods and moves to the right side, pulling down the covers and getting in, lying on his side facing toward the centre of the bed. Jon turns off the lamp on his nightstand before mirroring Martin’s actions on his own side. Both place their head as close to the edge of their pillows as possible. Together they make a pair of parentheses on the bed, curling into each other, but not really touching. Jon hesitantly lifts a hand and places it on Martin’s bicep and Martin responds by slipping his arm underneath Jon’s and pulling him closer by the small of his back. They bask in their closeness and the comfortable humidity of their mingled breaths. Eyes closed, Jon feels lips meet his for a long and lazy kiss, which he returns with as much enthusiasm as he can muster in his sleep deprived state. He wonders why he ever tried to delay the inevitably of this moment. They sleep well into the evening and get up only to have a quick bite to eat around three o’clock in the morning, then resume their positions back in Jon’s bed.

Martin’s few belongs begin making their way from his room into what Jon is slowly starting to think of as their bedroom. Their own books and phone chargers on their respective nightstands. On somedays they don’t bothering getting up. They talk and read, and laugh and sleep, hardly leaving the bed.

***  
  


Sometimes it becomes a bit overwhelming for Jon. He adores that Martin wants to be around him but at times he requires a bit of privacy to recharge.

He escapes from the living room where Martin is writing, to read alone in the bedroom, only to be followed in a couple minutes later and handed a cup of tea. Its a kind gesture, but when Martin settles himself next to Jon on the bed and begins writing again, Jon’s solitude is lost.

“I’m going to walk to the Co-Op,” Jon announces after a few minutes of inability to concentrate on his book.

“Oh! Ok,” Martin begins to move to get his trainers from next to the wardrobe. He doesn’t appear to recognize the non-invitation, the emphasis on _I’m,_ singular. Jon has to say something.

“Martin, I’d rather go alone, if that’s alright.”

Martin pauses midway through tying his laces and looks up. “Oh sure, of course,” he looks a little hurt by this, and Jon feels bad but also really needs a moment to himself.

“Is there anything you want me to pick up?” Jon adds trying to pacify the moment.

“No, you ahead. I’ll text you if I think of anything,” says Martin.

“Alright...” He really hopes Martin doesn’t take it too personally. Jon is used to living alone, and although the recent thrill of being held all night and really getting to know each other have been wonderful, he still needs a little bit of separation to take stock of himself.

The twenty minute walk to the shop just brings more anxiety as he thinks about Martin’s hurt expression. He picks up some more laundry soap and milk, some Jaffa cakes for Martin and a pack of menthols. The way back is even worse, when the plastic bag breaks under the weight of the detergent and milk. He’s forced to balance the groceries in his arms more than half of the way back to the cabin.

Jon finds Martin sitting at the table with his hands folded when he returns. He can tell that he’s probably been gearing himself up for A Talk since Jon left.

“You can tell me if I’ve done something to upset you, you know,” says Martin before Jon has a moment to put down the groceries.

“Can we not do this right this moment,” says Jon shortly. His arms ache from the awkward way he had to carry the larger items. He deposits them on the counter not bothering to put anything away. It was early evening when he left and had started to get cold on his way back. He just wants a shower to warm up, so he begins moving toward the bathroom. Martin stands up and starts to follow him.

“Can you please tell me what I’ve done?”

“Its not always about you, Martin!” He hadn’t meant to shout and immediately feels terrible knowing Martin will probably recoil at his anger.

“Clearly it is, if you’re trying so hard to get away from me all of a sudden!” To his surprise, Martin shouts back, matching his exasperation.

Jon immediately steps out of the doorway of the bathroom. _This might as well happen too_.

They’ve had arguments before, a long time ago, all work related, back when Jon actually acted as the boss, not that it was any more professional of him then. This is the first time they’ve shouted at each other. Jon sometimes forgets that just because Martin is inclined to avoid conflict doesn’t mean he won’t fight back when confronted with it.

It devolves fairly quickly into petty jabs at the other’s domestic habits.

“The fact that you only brush once a day is disgusting!”

“You hardly ever bring your tea mugs to the sink! Even back at the Institute! It drove me mad to find them moldy after a week on your desk! Who do you think washes them?!”

“Would it kill you to hang your clothes so I don’t have to keep tripping over your luggage?!”

“Would it kill _you_ to do the laundry every once in a while?!”

They should have figured the cabin fever would set in at some point, there was no way to avoid stepping on each other’s toes forever. This isn’t what their fight is really about, and Jon knows it but he feels like he’s boiling over. Yelling slowly releases some of the steam until he just doesn’t feel like arguing anymore.

“Just leave me alone Martin,” he says with some finality. Martin still looks hurt and ready to continue but he lets him go as Jon heads back into the bathroom and closes the door.

The hot water of the shower soothes him. He takes exceptionally long, just standing there trying to calm down. He knows that its not really Martin’s fault, he’s the one that turned it into a shouting match. He wonders whether he’ll come out to find that Martin decided to sleep in the other bedroom. When he finally gets out he sees the light through the crack under the door, leading to their shared room. Any anger and unease he had been feeling had been washed down the drain. He goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on to boil and puts one of Martin’s Twinings Lady Grey bags in a mug. When the switch clicks off he pours the boiling water into the mug until its halfway full and turns to the fridge to grab the milk. He removes the bag and fills up the mug the rest of the way. Martin usually makes their tea so he doesn’t remember if he takes his with sugar. After a moment he grabs a few cubes out of the bowl, just in case, and brings it into the bedroom.

Martin is sat up in bed scribbling furious in his journal. Jon vaguely wonders if he’s getting an angry poem written about him, the thought is surprisingly endearing.

“I’m sorry for shouting,” he says placing the tea and sugar down on Martin’s bedside table by way of peace offering. “I didn’t really mean it about the teeth brushing, I can tell you chew a lot of that cleaning gum because you taste minty sometimes and if you say you’ve never had a cavity its probably fi—“

“You added too much milk,” Martin cuts him off.

“Right, sorry I didn’t know how you—“

“And I like to leave my teabag in,” Martin continues. He knows he’s just being stubborn and Jon doesn’t feel like fighting anymore.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know whether you took sugar either. I’ll get it right next time,” Jon says. He sits on the edge of the mattress next to Martin’s legs.

“I’m sorry Martin, I promise its not you. I’m still getting used to this. I honestly never thought I would be living with a partner,” Martin’s expression softens as Jon speaks, so Jon reaches for his hand and is thankful when he doesn’t pull away. “Sometimes I still need to be by myself for a bit, I hope you understand?”

“I understand and I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have taken it personally,” said Martin eyes cast downward. “I’m just so happy that I get to be with you. I don’t mean to be overbearing or move too quickly. If you’d like I can move back into the other room--”

“No, that’s not what I meant at all,” said Jon taking Martin’s face into his hands. “I promise I’m not trying to get away from you. Sometimes I just have a hard time being around people. I’m still getting used to this, being with someone.”

“Alright,” Martin said, meeting Jon’s gaze at last. Jon pulls his face forward into a kiss. This is good. They were starting to communicate.

“Tell me how you take your tea,” Jon whispered against Martin’s lips.

“One sugar, bag in, water, then milk. Make it the color of He-Man,”

Jon laughed “What exactly does that mean?”

“He-Man’s skin colour is the perfect shade for tea.” Jon continued to chuckle at that.

“I’ll show you tomorrow,” said Martin.

***

It gets easier to talk after that. To set clear boundaries.

Martin gives Jon some alone time in the cabin and walks over a mile into town to purchase a small tent at a camping shop. He sets it up under a tree behind the cabin and hangs a battery powered lantern to give the interior some light.

“I thought you could sit out here if you’d like. Or I can, if you prefer to be inside,” Martin said, when he shows it to Jon. Jon is touched by the gesture. They end up making out inside the tent with their legs sticking out of the entrance.

***

“Will you let me hear one of your poems?” Jon asks setting down Martin’s tea on the coffee table, bag in, just the right colour.

“Oh. I don’t really have any with me,” said Martin “This is just a diary I’ve been keeping.”

“Does it say ‘wake up, eat, take walk, read, eat, shower, sleep’ on every page?” Jon teases.

“Don’t be silly, it says ‘kiss Jon’ at least once between each of those activities,” they both laugh.

Only once Jon has settled in to lean against his side on the couch, Martin continues.

“But really, it is mostly about you,” he admits, cheeks reddening. “Our time together. Here. I know you said you never expected to be living with anyone. I really didn’t either. And I still wasn’t sure how you felt before we arrived. But then you kissed me, and I’m...I’m happy despite it all. And I know we can’t stay here forever...but this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time. And I love you...and I just...I’m just trying to write it all down.”

Martin has been keeping a record of their time together. Evidence of themselves and their love. Jon feels the warmth bloom in his chest and he nestles even closer into him.

“I hope you know that I love you very much Martin.”

He had been waiting for the right time to say it. It comes out quietly but he knows Martin has heard him when he feels him tense and turn to look Jon in the eye. Martin’s face shines, like all the lights coming on in London at night.

Hardly any space comes between them for the rest of the evening, choosing to eat dinner on the couch draped over each other. Jon’s legs splayed across Martin’s lap while he rests his back against the armrest. Alternating between talking and eating and kissing when the mood takes them. They even allow themselves to fantasize about what might come next. The future still feels too uncertain to set plans in stone but they imagine one where they are together. Maybe a shared flat in London, they’ll have to cross reference which areas have the least statements centered around them. Or they could stay up here in Scotland. Just a single bedroom and one shared bed. Maybe they would sit down in front of a television and he would let Martin show him the last decade of pop culture that he’d missed. Martin makes notes of everything they discuss. They don’t acknowledge the unlikelihood of returning to any form of normalcy, but allow themselves this once to believe they’ll be ok.

Later while tidying up, Jon finds the journal open where Martin had left it, facedown on the table. He turns it gently over in his hands. He hadn’t intended to read it, only to replace the ribbon bookmark to the open page. The pages it opens to start with the date and the line:

_Jon told me he loves me._

Jon smiles and replaces the ribbon, closing the notebook and placing it back on the table.

***

“I think we may have finally got something from Basira,” says Martin upon return from a late Saturday afternoon walk, taking the delivery slip for a parcel stuck to the door.

Jon checks his phone for the time. “We might still be able to make it into town before the post office closes if we leave soon,” he says, and begins removing his jacket in the entryway. The moment the jacket is off and hung on the wall hook, Martin pins him against the door. Lips find his neck and jaw and Jon feels himself being lifted off the ground as he laughs and wraps his arms around Martin’s shoulders, legs locking around Martin’s waist. They miss the post office’s open hours by thirty minutes and decide they’ll try again on Monday.

***

They had continued to sleep facing each other since the first night they shared a bed, even knowing what lurks out there beyond their borders, what might sneak up on them from behind. But still they choose to keep focus on each other. Jon only rests in small bursts, almost never able to sleep continuously through the night. The time he lies awake he tries to shut off his brain, concentrating on Martin’s steady breathing and the strong arm holding him at his waist. It doesn’t always help to block out the thoughts that creep in on spidery-legs.

Its been weeks since they arrived at the safehouse without much word from the outside world. He’s exchanged a couple texts with Basira and is grateful to her for sending him the parcel of statements that are no doubt waiting to be retrieved from the post office. Although he has continued to feel weak and metaphysically underfed, he hasn’t seen a damned tape recorder in weeks and counts that as a small blessing. This feels like it might be the thing to put a crack in the blissful solitude he’s found with Martin. The statements as a reminder that there’s still a world out there that needs saving.

He’s broken out of his thoughts when he realizes that Martin’s breathing has become less deep and Jon wonders if he’s woken up. After about fifteen minutes Martin shifts indicating that he is awake, he runs his hand soothingly up and down Jon’s back. Jon brings his hand up to Martin’s cheek with the intention of kissing him, but stops when he feels that its wet with tears.

“Martin...?”

“I’m fine, I’m sorry, I just...” Martin inhales to steady himself, “This can’t last forever, can it?”

At first Jon is startled to hear Martin voice the same thoughts he himself was experiencing, worrying that he had accidentally planted them in Martin’s mind without meaning to. When he tells Martin this he just shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think that’s it.” Martin explains how he had been beginning to worry about it for awhile now. How the inky doubt at the lastingness of this happiness was bleeding in at the edges, just when he was beginning to feel almost safe. The bubble would break eventually.

As Martin speaks, Jon recognizes how they had begun vibrating at the same frequency for a while now. Its unsurprising they share the exact same anxiety despite their seemingly unspoken agreement not to talk about it before now. And maybe now is finally the time to talk.

Jon continues to listen while Martin tells him about the time he mourned for him, when he lay mostly dead in a hospital for six months. His difficulty in making peace with it, and the regret at never having told Jon he loved him. In turn, Jon recounts every emotion he felt going into The Lonely after Martin, similarly regretful for the lack of time they’d yet to have together. They both voice the fear they continue to have of losing the other. That one of them might be left alone again. That there may come a point where one will have to go one without the other.

But they also discuss the very real possibility that neither will survive this. Even the brave can fail. They think of Tim, without a family, only them to mourn his passing, and the real Sasha who died unremembered, without anyone to notice until it was far too late. Gertrude down in the tunnels. Jon lists each crippling fear he has, like reading from a will. Tears are shed from both of them and comfort comes in the form of kisses to brows and cheeks and lips.

Soon they run out of tears to shed. Martin reaches over to the bedside table to grab his notebook. Clutching it to his chest with both hands, he closes his eyes.

“Jon, I want you to read this...” Jon feels another wave of emotions rise up in him. He doesn’t want this. Not as some form of farewell. A ‘read it when I’m gone’ request.

“Martin, no. I don’t want to think that you might ever not be here—,”

“Wait Jon. Please listen,” Martin cuts him off before more tears can spill. “I want you to read this with me. I just need you to know what it says, with everything I’ve thought and felt for you in these past few weeks. That way, no matter what happens, despite all this fear, you’ll know how I’ve loved you. Would you please do that with me?”

The wave crashes to shore and Jon lets himself exhale. He wraps his arms around Martin and pulls him as close as he can with the book still in between them.

“Yes, I can do that.”

Jon recognizes the power in the action of Martin’s writings. Like his many tapes back at the Institute, testaments of fear. But this is different, a testament of love. Each entry like a statement, that get to live on after being recorded. The power and emotion in them that outlive even the people they invoke. Even if Elias was right, and these things weren’t a cosmic power in themselves, they still provide some reassurance and comfort. Jon and Martin were here and they were happy, and they were in love despite it all. A list of things they've built together. Mundane moments of walks and tents and teabags left in. A reminder so that they may always fall asleep with the memory of arms around each other.

_We’ll read it together tomorrow_ , Jon thinks as he finally begins to drift back to sleep. Each has already contemplated the loss of the other before they’ve even really begun. He knows they’ll do what they can, to keep the hope alive that they might see the other end of this together. Because hope sticks to the ribs if you let it. With the unstable future looming, they’ll take comfort in the soft domesticity of now and continue on in the agreement to love through it all.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to see if I could write actual feelings.


End file.
